touched and delighted, but also aware that the
last romantic weekend of 1993 would inevitably
assume a different character than we had planned.

I was scheduled to check into the hospital by
about 4:00 on Sunday afternoon, which meant I
needed to leave Wimberley by noon. Jeff could
rent a car in Austin, but to maximize time with
them and also to give Patricia a chance to visit
with her parents, we decided to take both cars. I
would check in on my own and she could drop by
the hospital in the evening. It meant both of us
would spend several hours alone on the highway
at a time when we would prefer to be together,
but it seemed like the best solution.

We didn't get off as early as we had hoped to
on Friday, and when we finally made it to the hilltop,
we were both fairly tired. We watched the
news to see what the weather would be and drank
a glass of wine. We made love, sincerely but not
spectacularly, and promised each other that
Saturday night, children or no children, would be
an affair to remember.

Jeff is an easy guest and we all took pleasure at
watching Samantha pick up nails left by carpenters
and marvel at the prickly pear and deer and
cows and fire ants, none of which are indigenous
to Brentwood, California. Saturday evening, we
went to dinner at the Cypress Creek Cafe, where
we ate the national dish of Texas, chicken-fried